


Oasis

by trufflemores



Category: The Flash (TV 2014)
Genre: Character Study, F/M, Fluff, Hurt/Comfort, Meta, Romance, bubble baths, snuggles
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-02-18
Updated: 2018-02-18
Packaged: 2019-03-20 15:14:25
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 885
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13720374
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/trufflemores/pseuds/trufflemores
Summary: Bubble baths are Barry's Kryptonite.





	Oasis

**Author's Note:**

> My pupper has been sick all day, so my writing schedule has been severely compromised, but I wanted to write *something* in the little part of the day remaining, and this piece emerged. Enjoy!

Bubble baths are Barry's Kryptonite.

Thanks to the Speed Force, he can keep a tub of standing water warm for hours, expanding a pleasant experience into a euphoric one. Showers are cleansing, removing dirt, blood, grime, and sweat, but baths are relaxing. Humans evolved from water-loving creatures; a soul-deep bond exists between them.

Barry sinks low in the water until only his head is above the sudsy surface, reveling in the all-encompassing warmth. There is something innately charming about the soapy foam, transforming a flat surface into a dynamic environment. He brushes a hand across the foam, reshaping the landscape, humming softly. Letting his hand settle on his stomach, he tips his head back against the edge of the tub and closes his eyes.

He loves soaking, letting his aching back ease up, his throbbing knees quiet down, his tired feet relax. His body is a machine; taking care of it is vital. Thankfully for him, it's also immensely enjoyable. He loves a good hard run as much as the next speedster, but he lives for these quiet moments in-between.

The Speed Force does not understand pain. It knows how to burn energy at a tremendous rate to fix any damage applied to its host, but it does not wrestle with soreness like Barry does. It does not comprehend the need to slow down, to recharge, to rest. It seeks only to keep moving forward. It would sooner drive him to extinction than acknowledge the simple joy of idleness after a long day.

Sighing deeply, he basks in the stillness. His phone is on the rug adjacent to the tub, but having issued strict orders to his family to reach out only if unavoidably necessary, it lies idle. Its dark surface is more comforting than cake or coffee: it is a reminder that there can still be moments when his time belongs to himself. With an entire city to look after, it's a profound gift to simply be an island for a time.

An island full of warmth and water and soap that smells like bergamot. There is, truly, no more perfect life than one lived with room for bubble baths.

He hears the door to the apartment open but does not so much as twitch an eyebrow. Meditating in the warm space, he listens to her settle in, identifying the hush of a coat and a pair of shoes being removed, the jangle of keys being set aside in their tray, the snick of locks sliding back in place on the door. Though tempted, he does not call out, waiting for her, content to wait forever if he must.

Since the door to the bathroom is open, she knocks lightly on the frame, and he finally opens his eyes to regard her. A lazy smile sprawls across his face, and he considers getting out of the tub so he can embrace her, fix up dinner for her, ask her about her day in detail and generally fulfill the expectations of a good husband. Instead, he arches an eyebrow lightly, an unspoken invitation, and sits up when she wordlessly shucks off her shirt.

Conscious of the water line, he lets some of it drain before capping it again, resting an arm on the side of the tub and his chin on top of his arm as he watches her. She strips playfully but without delay, and he smiles against his forearm, belly warm with affection. She's beautiful, and sexy, and adorable, and it makes him huff a tiny laugh that he doesn't explain when she lifts her own eyebrows challengingly.

Sensing that there is no affront, she settles into the tub with him, back to his chest. He wraps his arms around her belly, the deep blue bruises on his wrists nothing more than faintly discolored patches now, almost completely hidden by the foam. Still, her thumbs find those fading marks, memorized,  _twin snaps on a comm system followed by a crackling howl_ , and she strokes them softly. He presses a kiss to her bare shoulder, not giving voice to the old hurt, the soon-to-be-renormalized hurt.

That's the beauty of bubble baths, he thinks, letting his eyelids slide shut again. They acknowledge the aches and pains that he acquires on the streets, old and new. Unlike most medical treatments, they do so without adding any discomfort. They bring only relief – warm, soft relief that turns him boneless with joy. A headache rooted at the base of his skull dissolves; a teeth-grinding pain lodged deep in his calf disintegrates; a stretch of barbed wire stitched down his spine vanishes.

A thousand aches from as many injuries demand as much from Barry as the city demands from The Flash, but bubble baths let him temporarily erase the ledger. He has a dozen other methods to ease the various discomforts associated with his lifestyle, everything from cryotherapy to meditation, but there is something perfect about bubble baths. Something divine in their simplicity, their gentleness.

And greater still is their value for the simple fact that they can be shared: with the person he loves and trusts and cherishes above all others.

The world may make its demands of them, but in the finite little realm they carve out for themselves, they retreat together to an island of peace.


End file.
